


lonely for you only

by yien



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 18:57:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15125828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yien/pseuds/yien
Summary: shiro struggles with accepting himself. featuring a dark haired boy.





	lonely for you only

**Author's Note:**

> okay so I may have got some things wrong so for the sake of this fic verse, lets pretend the castle wasn’t sacrificed at the end of s6 and those tears were sealed another way. good? great. I hope you enjoy and feel free to comment!

Sitting on his bed, finally back to his old quarters in the castle, Shiro decides that he really, _really_ needs to shower. After spending the better part of a week encased in a healing pod, feeling less worse for wear than he did at the start, he still can’t shake the gathered grime on this body. He couldn’t shake the oddness of it all, how _his_ body was gone, and now he was left with this replacement. Just like when he first lost his arm all those years ago. And not to say he wasn’t grateful, he _was -_ he couldn’t thank the stars enough for being here again - frustration just gnawed at him. He wasn’t able put it into words, he didn’t think he ever could.

 

With a long sigh, Shiro finally gathers up the strength to rise from his bed and takes a few strides to the mirror across the room. Lifting the plain white shirt he was wearing up with his left hand, he swiftly tugged it over his head and threw it behind him, where it had _hopefully_ landed back on the bed. Shiro raised his eyes to meet his reflection in the mirror, and he took himself - or what he now considered to be him - in.

 

It was hard. His scars, some faint and others harsher, were littered across all the places he remembered them being, now just with a fading layer of bruises and cuts. Twisting around in the mirror, he surveyed his back and came to the same conclusion. _Nothing had changed_ \- but everything had. Facing the mirror once more, his eyes drifted to his right arm, or lack of thereof. In the early days following his arm being taken away from him, even with the Galra prosthetic, it had been hard to shake the phantom feeling. Even though Shiro had, in all senses of the word, an arm, the emptiness that followed as he lived day by day knowing that a part of him would forever be missing only got worse.

Shiro was himself, he had been back then at least, back on Earth where he’d felt lighter than ever before. Now nightmares of those days held in Galra captivity haunted him, dragging him from consciousness each night and continuing to plague him throughout the rest of his waking moments. As those fears washed over him tenfold, he wasn’t so sure he was much of anything anymore. _He’d died_. But defying all logic, he was here. Broken, bruised and…still shirtless?

_Shower. Right._

Shaking his head to rid himself of his thoughts, he spared one more glance towards the mirror, eyes downcast, then began to gather what he needed.

  

* * *

  

The walk to the shower block was quick and familiar, the white walls of the castle soothing him somehow. In all the time Shiro spent here, and away, he’d never thought he’d consider it his home, but with growing realisation, that’s what it had become to him. Home. Quirking his lips slightly, he let out a fond sigh.

 

While the journey had been simple, entering the shower room provided some…difficulty. Operating doors one handed had never been Shiro’s speciality, and his skill had only decreased when his towel and various other necessities held in his last fully functioning arm were taken into account.

“Well, isn’t this fun…” Shiro muttered under his breath. 

Setting his bag aside on the floor, he threw his towel over his neck and went to push the door open, muscles aching from the lack of use after his time in the healing pods. He made a mental note to do some stretches later. Throwing back the door, he kept it partly open with a leg and reached back to retrieve his bag. The lights flickered on automatically and the entire area was flooded with harsh light, illuminating the stalls that lined the far wall opposite a row of sinks and mirrors.

Slowly treading towards one of the many unoccupied stalls, he caught himself in the mirrors, and wavered slightly. His breathing picking up as he felt eyes upon him, brutal and lined with red anger. The lights overhead seemed to darken, his reflection getting sinister as the seconds passed until it proved too much and he was plunged into darkness. His breath ragged, gasping for air as murky visions clouded his mind.

_The fight with Zarkon…blinding white light…unbearable pain…_

_This isn’t real. This isn’t real. This isn’t real. Breathe Shiro,_ Breathe _._

 

As he centred himself, Shiro realised that his eyes were closed, explaining away the sudden darkness that’d overcome him and slowly, he prayed them open. The lights were their usual irksome brilliance and as he lifted his gaze towards the mirrors again, he saw himself, shaking slightly from exertion but albeit, he was _normal_. 

_Well, as normal as he could ever be._

 

With one last glance at his reflection, Shiro walked the rest of the way to the stall and set down his wash bag once more, placing his towel on a hook just to his left. He tries not to shake as he steps out of the rest of his clothes but his left hand betrays him, and it takes a few attempts to unhook his trousers from his waist. With them finally off and in a heap on the floor along with his underwear, Shiro steps into the wide expanse of the cubicle and closes the curtains behind him; they were a midnight blue, dark and thick enough that his body remained shapeless. Behind the curtains, he twisted the main knob and a jet of lukewarm water sprayed out, darkening his stark white hair and plastering it to his forehead. He slicks it back and reaches out again, playing with the dials until the stream becomes scalding, _almost_ too hot to bear, and releases a long sigh as his muscles melt underneath the spray. 

He stood there for what seemed like an age, he knew that the temperature would stay constant for however long he needed thanks to the castle’s Altean technology, so he savoured it a little longer than he normally would have. Shiro ran his hand through his hair again and marvelled at  the texture, silky at the top and slightly coarse where it was shaved down, just like it had always been. Spreading the water across his torso, his hand swept across the marred skin and down the taut plain of his lean stomach, just grazing the fuzz of hair at the base that had remained, surprisingly, dark.

Moving his line of direction upwards, Shiro began to massage his right shoulder, trying to relieve the tension stored there. As he worked his fingers into the knots of muscle, the phantom feeling came back again. He swears he could feel the tip of his fingers just shy of the wall as he stretched out. It felt so _real_. 

With a gruff yet defeated noise, Shiro paused his movements and merely stood under the spray once more in an attempt to ground himself.

 

Deciding that his body was thoroughly soaked and his mind had wandered too far, he turned and stuck his hand out of the curtain, crouching slightly as he went to grab the bag that’d been all but abandoned along with his clothes outside the stall. Once in his grip, he swivelled round slowly and hung it off the conveniently placed hooks within the shower and retrieved the bar of soap out from it. The bar fit too wide in his palm and proved difficult to hold firmly as the water lathered it, making it slipperier by the second. Just as he went to rub it across his torso, he lost is grip and it went thudding to the floor of the cubicle. Shiro let out a drawn-out curse as he bent to try and salvage whatever dignity he entered this room with. In the meanwhile, as the soap bar continued to evaded him, he thought that _maybe_ asking someone to help wouldn’t have such a bad idea… _but who would he have asked?_

Only one person came to mind and he quickly dismissed that thought as soon as it had been formed.

_He couldn’t…could he?_

 

Shiro’s thoughts came to an abrupt end as he managed to get a hold of the soap, cheering triumphantly as he held it above his head…only to lose it once more to the unrelenting stream of water. This time he let loose an irritated growl which echoed across the walls of the empty room.

“Shiro?” a familiar voice called out.

Perhaps, not so empty after all.

 


End file.
